Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I make no money from writing about them.
Elrohir takes over the story...
We slip down the silvery Bruinen. I barely need to paddle, just steer to follow the best course of the river. Father has control of these waters, to the Ford at least, so we are safe until then. I think we may go to the confluence with Mitheithel and perhaps out to Tharbad. There we might meet the ones Estel needs to see.
He is sitting with his back to me in the bow of our little boat. I know I turned his chosen path as we talked on the river bank, and he is not happy with me about that. But he could not have gone alone, with his arm broken, and no weapons, and so young still. He has been out with us once to the wild, last year, and that on horseback and only as far as the Last Bridge. That is not enough experience for what he had planned.
He tells me he was going to leave word. I am sure he would have done, too, though perhaps not in a helpful way. So we quarrelled, after a fashion, and he told me I was treating him like a child. It did no good to remind him that he is still a child, and to ask what he was proposing to do for food and shelter since he had only his knife with him. I believe I also questioned his ability to paddle with one hand. Then I started to sound so like Father that I fell quiet and began to listen to what he wanted to do, and why.
So it was I found myself running for whatever I could find in the stables, leaving my own hurried messages and sign, and getting back to Estel within our set time limit. He was waiting for me by the bank, quiet and thoughtful, and I could see in him the strength to endure. He is a hardy boy, born of strong stock, but what he had planned was sheer foolishness. I remembered just in time not to tell him that.
Now we float on the stream, silent and yet not peaceful, and I wonder if Elladan or Father would find some wise saying that would mend the trouble between us; or some lesson to be learned; or something I should point out to him, so that he would be better equipped for his life to come. Father says we must teach him all we can since he will be with us for so short a time.
I can think of nothing, and we remain silent.
The high red cliffs of the gorge begin to draw apart, and the banks become flat plains as we approach the Ford. Estel has been here many times. He and I and Elladan used to walk here, he between us, holding my right hand and Elladan's left – never the other way about, so that he should be sure which twin he spoke to. He used to laugh so when we swung him between us, and shout for us to walk fast as he trotted to keep up. Then, as he grew, he ran ahead of us, then dawdled behind, engrossed in his study of some plant or animal, often calling us to whatever he had found. Then we would sit there, and I might tell him the healing properties of the plants, or Elladan might explain the life of the animal, until he had learned all he wanted to learn and ran off again to find something else.
I wish for that closeness now. I know what his trouble is but we have always found the remedy for his sorrows in the past and it is painful now to watch him, back hunched, barely looking at the landscape, and know that nothing I can find to say will soothe him.
The sun climbs higher and the water is so bright and musical that it lulls me, and I begin to sing back to it. I stop when Estel turns to look at me.
"Why have you stopped, Elrohir? You always sing to the river and then I can almost hear it sing back to you."
"I did not want to disturb your thought," I say. "You are thinking long and deep today, brother. I wish you could tell me what ails you."
He flings himself at me so suddenly that I almost lose the paddle. He is gasping and sobbing, and clinging to me so hard that I let the boat take its own course and settle him more comfortably next to me on the thwart. He stills but I can feel the tension in him and fear he will move away again before I can speak to him.
He mumbles something into my side.
"What? What did you say?"
"I'm sorry," he mumbles again. "I am still a baby."
"No. You have strong emotions inside, and they must find some way out or they will hurt you, I think. Let me paddle us to shore. We can talk there."
"No. I want my adventure first." He sniffs loudly but looks at me, a small smile on his face. "You promised."
"I did, didn't I. Well, let us see if the river will take us there, or if we must find it ourselves. I think, if we go far enough down river, it might find us."
"To the sea?" he asks, now calmer. He reaches over the side for a handful of water and then washes his face.
"No," I say thoughtfully. "Not to the sea. Father would wonder where we are and Elladan would be worried. No, to the place where we meet another river, I think. If we are in luck, there may be sign there that we can follow. Later today, perhaps even before dark."
He nods, accepting my word as he always does. All I can do is hope my word is good. I am taking a chance. It is three days early – they may not be there yet. But I think Elladan will guess what it is I am doing, and he may find a way to send a message, or even go himself. The river is slower than a horse. He could easily get there first.
Estel returns to the front of the boat. He begins to look around him, to point things out. A huge bird sits in the top of a pine tree.
"Osprey!" he says quietly, pointing, and I whistle to the bird. It whistles back and takes flight, flapping slow beats at first then cruising across the river right in front of us. Estel politely wishes him good fishing and, taking the hint, I steer us to a deep pool. Estel leans precariously over the side, sitting very still. I hold us there, back-paddling quietly in the easy water.
After a while, he looks up and holds his hands apart, wide, and grins.
"That big?" I say, teasing. "Really? He would make a good supper for us."
"Pull to shore, then. You have line and tackle in your belt, I know you have."
So, despite my promise of continuing down river we stay for an hour while Estel tries to outfox the old trout. He catches two smaller, less wary fish but the old one knows better. I explain that is how he became a large, old fish, and Estel asks if that's how Father became old.
"By being wary?" I ask, trying not to grin too widely.
"Yes," he says, pulling in the line slowly, awkwardly.
"I think it may be," I say, seeing the large fish below the water nuzzling at the bait. Estel cannot see it for reflections in the water, but I can and realise the danger too late.
"Estel! Let go the line! He will drag you in!" I had not thought the old fish would even sniff the bait, so I had not anticipated the difficulty.
Asking Estel to let go a fish is not something I had ever done before, and he is so surprised that he hangs on tighter rather than lets go, and pulls, hard. He ends up sitting in the cold water, laughing and laughing, with the old fish wriggling in his lap. By the time I sort matters out, and have his three fish and him back in the boat, I am soaked through too.
He is wet but it is a warm day, and he sits in the hot sun and spreads out his legs to dry his leggings. I remove my cloak and wring out my tunic as best I can, and we drift further down river, the snow-capped mountains running almost parallel, filling the distant view, and the river reeds full of little birds.
The silence between us is easy now and when I begin again my river song, Estel beats time gently on the thwart.
tbc
A/N Thanks so much for the kind reviews. They are all greatly appreciated.